Ode 7. Irmos.

Three Youths in a furnace typified the Trinity, trampled down the threat of the fire and cried out in praise: Blessed are you, the God of our fathers.

My time is completed, my departure is at the doors, O my soul, show fruits of repentance, before the doors are shut, and cry out to Christ: Lord, save me!

Let us plough up our hearts with the plough of true knowledge, as we bring the corn of repentance, that we may reap a ear of justice by Christ the husbandman of our souls.

Of the Martyrs.

Outspoken lanterns of true religion, enrichers of the needy, Martyrs of the Lord, enrich my most miserable soul, lacking in virtues.

You saved the Publican when he groaned from the depth of his heart; accept my feeble groan and save me through the Champions, who glorify you, O Christ, with their songs.

Source which pours forth the water of forgiveness, dry up the floods of my faults, granting me showers of tears, that I may ever hymn you as Mother of God.